"Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
...the fortune of us that are the moon's men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being govern'd, as the sea is, by the moon" [Henry IV, I.ii.31-33]
HISTORY NEVER REPEATS ITSELF, BUT IT OFTEN RHYMES
"There is a Providence that protects idiots, drunkards, children and the United States of America." Otto von Bismarck

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Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Guardian Bubble-gum Journalism

The deepest caverns of the nightmarish leftish coal mine is indisputably The Guardian where Trotskyites evidently dig harder and deeper to keep their methane fix satisfied. The headline of its 70% of Iranians favor Prez Ahmedinejad stems from:

"He's more popular now than a year ago. He's on the rise," said Nasser Hadian-Jazy, a professor of political science at Tehran University. "I guess he has a 70% approval rating right now.

Yes, to the Nibelungs of the lefty underworld, one poli sci professor's guess merits headlines. "Western diplomats" are also quoted, which could be two Third Secretaries in any anti-American Eurotrash embassy.

Of course, the Guardian vaunts Robert Fisk, the eponymous source for "fisking," bloggerel for totally unfounded horse manure, as its chief correspondent, so third-rate substandard ideological cant is its default mode.

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About Me

"''I have drunk ale from the Country of the Young And weep because I know all things now: I have been a hazel-tree, and they hung The Pilot Star and the Crooked Plough
Among my leaves in times out of mind....' Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments...the fortune of us that are the moon's men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being govern'd, as the sea is, by the moon."
Twenty-and-eight the phases of the moon, The full and the moon’s dark and all the crescents, Twenty-and-eight, and yet but six-and-twenty The cradles that a man must needs be rocked in: For there’s no human life at the full or the dark. From the first crescent to the half, the dream But summons to adventure and the man Is always happy like a bird or a beast; But while the moon is rounding towards the full He follows whatever whim’s most difficult...An aged man is but a paltry thing,A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress....Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.